


Progress

by Debate



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind!Roy, F/M, Gen, Post-Promised Day, marcoh didn't have another philosopher's stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Blinded by the Gate and discharged from the military, Roy, along with Riza, must adapt to their new lives as they continue to pursue their goals and interact with their friends and colleagues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progress

The hospital room sat on a precipice, one wrong breath and it would fall, dashed and broken and unable to be reconstructed ever again. 

“Fuck,” 

The word was spoken quietly, shaking not only the foundations of the people in the room, but their entire future as well. 

“Fuck,” 

Was uttered louder, the enormity of the news that had struck the room into such a delicate balance finally being comprehended by the it’s recipient.

“Fucking hell!” He yelled in the next moment, loud enough for all the nurses and doctors in the hall outside to hear, and even to reach the ears of the newly appointed Fuhrer Grumman as he entered the elevator at the end of the hall. The aging man shook his head, and hefted his briefcase so that it sat under his arm rather than in his hand. 

“Kid did his damndest,” he muttered as the door closed behind him. 

“That’s enough, Colonel, please try to calm yourself,” Lieutenant Hawkeye said in the bed adjacent to his, her voice endlessly patient. 

Roy Mustang let out a pained and rueful laugh,

“Didn’t you hear, Lieutenant? I’m being discharged, no need to call me Colonel anymore. Of course not, I can’t fucking see. And I was so stupid to think...” 

The weight of his statement seemed to soak into the room, the atmosphere suddenly too tense once again, Hawkeye said, 

“Well, sir, there is a gaping hole in the middle of central command, I think it may be awhile before they process the paperwork,” 

“We were supposed to get discharged from the hospital today,” Mustang continued, ignoring her statement, his voice thick with emotion. “And what are we going to do about Ishval? I can’t- I can’t stop now, I need to-” He continued desperately, his voice catching in his throat. “Shit,” he hissed. 

“We will figure it out, sir, I hardly think something as minor as this could stop you from moving forward,” She said her voice as clear and precise as ever. He was tempted to scoff, to call her on her bluff, she couldn’t possibly believe such an understatement, but her words also gave him confidence, she was never one to coddle, and that meant she believed everything she said. 

He was sure her face was stern and that the resolve in her eyes had hardened, and that knowledge, whether fabricated by his mind or not, gave him the confidence to sit up a little straighter, 

“Get Breda in here, we need to discuss this change to our plans,” 

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a smile in her voice.  
…

They were discharged from the hospital that day, ignoring the fact that the Colonel could have been released several days beforehand. His hands having been healed, there was little the staff could do for his blindness beyond help him transition as best they could, but he had joked that he needed to wait till his Lieutenant was all better, claiming that she was his ride and ignoring the fact that Fuery or Breda or any other amount of perfectly capable people could have taken him home. 

He quickly remembered how little time he had actually spent in his Central apartment when he walked through the door and promptly stumbled over a box that had remained unpacked since their transfer from Eastern. He had spent his time during the ‘hostage situation’ working late hours at the office or walking morosely through Central late at night until he stumbled home, too tired to think. This left little time for him to ever actually live in his apartment and resulted in an unfamiliarity with the place. 

Hawkeye caught his elbow before he could faceplant into the floor and guided him to his coach where he sat down with a huff. 

“Home sweet home,” he muttered dejectedly, feeling betrayed by his own apartment as it reminded him of how difficult things had become. 

He heard Hawkeye shuffling through his things and was mildly surprised when he heard a radio crackle to life, he had forgotten he even owned a radio. 

“We are still awaiting reports from Must-” 

Hawkeye changed the station, playing a doo-wop instead. It hadn’t really occurred to Mustang that while he had been sitting and recovering in a hospital room that the events of the Promised Day were still unraveling. 

“I need to leave for a while and run some errands. I need to pick up some changes of clothes, and Black Hayate who is still at Fuery’s. And then afterwards stop by HQ to drop some things off. You can come if you want,” Riza explained as her voice moved toward the door.

“Drop what off?” Roy asked suspiciously, not missing her attempt to down play her intentions. 

“My resignation,” She said simply. 

“Ah. I suppose I should have seen that coming,” He replied before scoffing at the unintentional pun. 

“You aren’t angry,” She confirmed and he felt her gaze studying him. 

“I hardly think I have the right to be,” He said while crossing his arms, even though he wanted to be, to tell her she shouldn’t wait behind for him, that he didn’t deserve her. But more importantly than those feelings, he trusted her judgement, completely. It was her choice. 

“Thank you, sir,” She said. 

“Well, go off then, I’m perfectly fine here,” He answered in an attempt to be nonchalant. 

She nodded, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see the action, and made her departure. 

She was gone for no more than five minutes when he began to get stir crazy. There was little more to do than sit and listen to the radio, he couldn’t read or write and his stumble earlier convinced him that he was ill prepared to wander around his apartment. And so he was left with his thoughts. 

He had known, subconsciously, that Riza wouldn’t remain in the military if he didn’t, and he was self-aware enough to know that he selfishly wanted her to leave so she could remain by his side as she had promised years ago. His dream was not abandoned, it’s path had just changed course, so she would follow, even if it meant abandoning the only real job she had ever known and giving up on any possibility of rising in the ranks. 

But they both knew it had never really been about her career. 

Thankfully, she came back about forty-five minutes later with a yapping Black Hayate at her heels. He was pleased when he felt the dog running around his legs and brushing up against his pants. He squatted down and held out his open hand, as the dog sniffed it before Roy ran his fingers through the his fur. Black Hayate panted happily. 

“Have I ever told you that I love dogs, Hawkeye?” 

“Several times, sir, you threatened to steal him once,” 

Roy chuckled in amusement as he rose hearing Hawkeye spark on the stove. 

“Is it time to eat already?” Roy asked as he fished in his pocket for his watch before remembering. 

“I’m just putting on some tea,” she replied, “do you want any?” 

“Sure,” he answered, “There’s sugar over the sink, I think,” Several minutes later she pressed the tea into his hands and he asked rather cheekily, 

“Am I supposed to call you Ms. Hawkeye now?” 

Her laugh surprised him, he had been expecting an eye roll. One, he reminded himself, that he wouldn’t be able to see anyway. 

“You can call me Riza now, if you want, although I think it may be a few weeks before my resignation is processed, what with the state of the military,” 

“That’s going to be,” he paused, “hard to get used to,” Roy said honestly, his voice sincere. 

“A lot of things have changed, sir,” she answered and paused and chuckled slightly, “for the both of us, it seems,” 

“It’s not that bad though,”

“No, I suppose it’s not,”

…

The first day after their discharge from the hospital, Riza was surprised by the shrill ring of the telephone. 

“Hello,” she answered, skeptically. 

“Well you certainly aren’t the Boss! How’s it Hawkeye?” Asked a cheerful voice on the other side of the line. 

“Oh, hello Havoc, no I’m afraid he’s still asleep. His sleeping patterns have been turned on their head since he can’t tell the difference between night and day anymore and he tends to get tired a lot more easily so I’m letting him sleep in. I’ll tell him you called if you want,” 

“Hey, it’s no bother, I like talking to you! Breda called two days ago said you’d finally got outta the hospital. Told me about the Colonel’s discharge too. That really sucks,”

“It’s no different from your situation really. He’s taking it better than I thought he would,” Riza sighed, setting a tired glance towards the the Colonel’s bedroom. 

“He’s as determined as ever, anyway,” she continued, “This really throws a wrench in our Ishval plans though, we’re not sure how to begin reconstruction without the army’s help,” 

“There are plenty of people who would help in the military if you asked. Armstrong for sure, he was a mess after Ishval, and old man Grumman always has liked our dear Colonel. Oh, and if you ever need anything, hit me up. I’m always glad to help, Riza,” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. We were really glad for your help with the coup. You would’ve choked on your cigarette if you’d seen the Colonel’s face when he heard your voice over the line. He’s always cared for you a lot. We’ll have to come pay you a visit sometime soon,”

“Hey I didn’t mind one bit, gave me something to do, and I’ve always been more comfortable when I’ve got plenty of guns on hand. Oh and your pretty friend Catalina coming around all the time didn’t hurt either! I think I finally get why the Boss loves you so much, girls with guns are hot!” 

Riza’s chuckle died. 

“Am I allowed to comment on that now? Since you’re, like, living together? ‘Cause I’ll shut up if you want me to,” Havoc said with an attempt at sensitivity. 

“It’s more complicated than that, he’s blind now, he needs someone to help him...”

“Bet he hates that,” Havoc interrupted.

“...but we’re not like that.” 

The unspoken 'yet' crackled through the phone line. 

“Yeah, whatever. Never been my business anyway, right? But Hawkeye, maybe it’s time you did something that you wanted, you know, for yourself. Just a suggestion, ” 

“I’ll take it under consideration,” she said, the finality in her tone steering the conversation away from it’s current topic. 

“Oh and I’d love to see you guys whenever you head back out east. You’ll have to stop by if you’re going to Ishval. And I have to tell me the full story of everything that happened in Central, not the watered down lies the radio keeps reporting. Anyway, it was nice talking to you Hawkeye, tell the Colonel, er Roy, or whatever, that I said hi,”

“I will. It was nice talking to you too, Jean,”

“Yeah, make sure you keep what I said in mind,” he said, but Hawkeye replaced the receiver before he could clarify which of his statements he meant.

...

They stayed busy. Everyday tasks took longer than might have been necessary, but handling Roy was a delicate balance between lending a needed hand and letting him have his much coveted independence. 

Breda was able to commandeer a typewriter out of storage from somewhere, beginning Roy’s battle with the qwerty keyboard. 

“It would make more sense,” he told his (no longer) subordinates multiple times, “if they put all the keys in alphabetical order!” 

He was frustrated, not just with the typewriter, but with the far reaching limits of his disability, and it was obvious that he felt that he was stuck still. Fuery and Breda came by almost everyday, knowing that Mustang’s mobility was limited, but not wanting to accentuate it by making him come across town to them. 

Making plans now was more difficult too, they had only reputation to fall back on, impressive ones at that, but none of the rank or power anymore. They couldn’t devise plans and push them along the Fuhrer's desk, where certain elements of favoritism would ensure they would be approved. 

The lack of government spending would also prove a problem, not to mention the fact that both he and Hawkeye had just gotten out of a job, and while his stipend was enough to live off of, it wasn’t near enough to rebuild a civilization. 

He started meeting with the Fuhrer on a weekly basis, despite his new civilian status, one couldn’t deny the influence he still possessed, of the help he had given when toppling the old regime. 

It was during one of these meetings that Grumman had assured them that the restoration would continue, and had alluded to the fact that they hadn’t been the only ones to push a new Ishval policy through Grumman’s office now that the old upper brass was gone. 

He remembered the conversation when he and Riza encountered Major Miles while exiting the record halls of Central HQ, tucked in the basement of the west wing, they were far away from the damage of Father’s blast. 

“Really, Hawkeye, you’ll make me feel more useless than I already am if you don’t let me at least carry some of the files!” Roy had been godding, arms outstretched waiting for the weight of the folders to be placed in his grasp when he was interrupted by a brusque cough.  
“Major Miles!” Riza greeted, and Roy wondered if she saluted him, before remembering that she was still carrying all the files and that she couldn’t have. He heard her feet click together though. 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye, C- Mustang,” He greeted. News of Roy’s discharge had already reached those within the military although it technically wasn’t public knowledge. But apparently Riza’s resignation hadn’t made it’s way through the rumor mill quite yet. 

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” Miles continued. 

“I’m surprised you’re not back in Briggs. I heard there was a bit of a skirmish in Drachma before the Promised Day, the Ice Queen hasn’t shipped you back up yet?” Roy asked. He was genuinely curious, Falman had already returned to the north along with the majority of the Briggs soldiers. 

“I’m being relocated. To Ishval. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. I spoke to Fuhrer Grumman last week about beginning to rebuild the land of my ancestors. With all the old supporters of the war gone, and with the help of the Ishvalans during the Promised Day I thought it was time. He told me you had already proposed the idea, I was hoping to discuss the plans you had devised thus far,” 

“Oh, yes, I’d love to. I think government and military support will be necessary. It was one of my concerns since I wouldn’t be able to provide it anymore. Manpower alone, along with the funds involved can’t really be gained without the military.” Roy said, surprised by Miles’ news but quickly becoming excited with the prospect of aid he hadn’t expected, although he kept his excitement well concealed. 

“Are you available now? The Lieu-Hawkeye and I were collecting some of the old files from early on in the war, before order 3066 was issued. The military kept a lot of records on the roads, water irrigation, and the landscape before they just ordered us all to destroy everything,” Roy continued, not without bitterness. “But I’m sure you have more interesting things to say.”

“Indeed, I have already spoken with some of the old priests of Ishvala that are still in the city. They have enough respect among the Ishvalans to persuade them to begin a return to their home land. They seem less enthused by the promise of military involvement. Most Ishvalans are quick to forgive, not so easy to forget, however,” Miles explained.

“Speaking of forgiveness, do you happen to know what happened to Scar? I haven't heard anything about his whereabouts,” Roy asked, he’d been told that the Xingese children had made their departure, but had received no word on their unexpected ally. 

“I don't think that is the best thing to discuss here.” Miles gestured to the open hallway they still occupied. 

“I can find us a conference room, if that would be more suitable, and if you don't mind I'll call in Lieutenant Breda and Sergeant Fuery, the majority of our documented research and plans are in their position,” Hawkeye interjected as she sifted the files she had gathered earlier under her right arm so her left could wrap around Mustang’s elbow.

“They can be trusted? I am not eager for this information to be disseminated,” Miles said, his voice gruff as he followed Mustang and Hawkeye around a corner. 

Mustang scoffed as if he was offended, 

“They are my former subordinates, and I consider them dear friends. If they can keep the fact that the government was under the control of a homunculus a secret then they are trustworthy enough to hear whatever you have to say,” Mustang said, a little too rudely and loudly and in the open for Miles’ tastes. He was pacified slightly when he saw the lieutenant smack his arm. 

They stopped outside a door and after the lieutenant poked her head inside to confirm it was vacant, she ushered the two men inside. 

She pulled out a chair which Mustang sat in and said, 

“I am going to call Breda and Fuery now, I should be gone for no more than ten minutes and I’m leaving you in the company of Major Miles,” Hawkeye said as her hand began to gently lift away from where it had relocated to his shoulder once he sat. 

“Yes, thank you,” he said, tapping her hand with his own before he swiveled his chair so he was no longer facing her. 

When she exited she shut the door louder than necessary to alert him to her departure. 

“She’s too good to me, really,” Mustang laughed humorlessly in an attempt to dismiss their borderline insubordinate actions. Although, Miles supposed, it didn't really matter when Mustang was of civilian status. 

“Now, did she leave those files she had with her?” Mustang asked, looking down as if he was trying to see his hands as they patted down the table around him searching for the papers. 

Locating some of them he held them in his grasp, but his hands weren't careful and the edges crinkled. 

“It's a bit inconvenient, but I have no idea what these say, you can look over them if you want, and if it's not too much hassle tell me anything you find pertinent,” the former Colonel said. 

Miles gathered the files from where where Mustang offered them unassumingly in front of him. Opening the manila folder Miles began to skim the information when he addressed Roy again, 

“I have to admit, I was surprised when Fuhrer Grumman told me you were the one to first conceive of a new Ishval policy,” Miles stopped talking for a moment to gain an explanation but when Mustang didn’t interject he continued, “You certainly didn’t strike me as one to care deeply about the people of Ishval, let alone about our religion and culture. After you killed so many of us,” 

This gave Mustang pause, his brow furrowed and he seemed displeased with the change in conversation. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard many things about myself, and I’m positive General Armstrong has done nothing to bolster my reputation to you,” Roy began, folding his hands to rest atop the table, “but I rightly look upon the actions I took during the civil war as heinous. Someone once told me to not look away from my sins or the death I caused, and while that man was beyond deplorable, I don’t plan to look away. If I can allow one Ishvalan, whose life I had previously caused misery, to find happiness, than the death I caused may find retribution.

“Being blind certainly isn’t an excuse to look away from the suffering I’ve caused.” Mustang finished, and Miles was surprised by the strength he found in his tone, nothing short of striking the man dead would stop him from implementing his hopes for Ishval. 

“You have noble aspirations,” Miles said after considering Mustang’s words. “And I am glad I can count on you as one of my allies in the restoration of Ishval’s holy lands,”

Mustang smirked, and Miles understood at the same time both why Armstrong found him infuriating and why he inspired such loyalty in his subordinates. 

“However,” Miles began, Mustang’s self-confident smirk turning into a small frown, “If you believe yourself to be incapable of cooperating with the Ishvalan known as Scar than you must tell me so now, and I will disregard your offer of assistance, his involvement is nonnegotiable,” 

This seemed to give Mustang pause and his eyebrows lifted as if he were genuinely surprised.

“Ah, so he lived, I wondered,” The former Colonel paused, “I don’t foresee that being a problem,” he finally conceded, “In fact he has already aided me personally in the past,” he admitted begrudgingly, “Not to mention the entire country. And I believe he is respected by his fellow Ishvalans, regardless of the whole serial killer thing. I can see why you believe him to be a valuable asset,” 

“I’m glad you agree. Although I will need you to keep the knowledge of his being alive a secret. He is still a wanted criminal, and the Ishvalan people have no intent to give him up,” Miles continued, his final statement almost sounding like a threat. 

“Hey, I know how to be discreet,” Mustang agreed. “I’m glad we can get to work,”

…

Roy was content to let Riza get the phone as it rang for the fourth time. His concentration was on the letter in front of him, counting the letters he typed out so he would know when to start a new line. 

“Roy Mustang’s home, Riza Hawkeye speaking,” she answered professionally. “Yes- Yes- That’s wonderful!-We will stop by-Yes-Thank you, goodbye,” She spoke on the phone for a moment before hanging up. Her voice was joyful as she said, “They’re admitting visitors to see Alphonse,” 

“Really?” Roy answered in surprise, “That’s good, he must be doing well then,” 

“Yes, I believe so. Why don't we stop by tomorrow morning?” Hawkeye said, “I’m sure they'll be swamped with visitors today, and Alphonse will still need his rest. It’s nice knowing so many people care about those boys,” She added as an afterthought. Roy nodded in agreement focusing his attention to his typing once more. 

The following morning, Hawkeye guided them, her own arm curled under his with a firm hand securely resting just above the junction of his elbow. It was how they went everywhere now, despite Hawkeye’s suggestion of a cane; Roy had ignored the recommendation, partly because of his pride and partly because he didn't want to be deprived of her touch just yet. 

Alphonse had remained in intensive care for nearly a month, unable to digest food, he'd had to survive off of fluids while he was given dozens of medications to help stimulate muscle growth and blood production and had gone through numerous mental and physical tests. 

Ed had been the only one permitted to see him for that period of time, being his next of kin, and he had hardly left his younger brother’s side during the ordeal. Snipets of information had passed through their room about the brothers’ condition, but both Mustang and Hawkeye had been too focused on their own recoveries and plans for Ishval and then Roy’s subsequent discharge to pay much heed to the information, content to know that everything the boys had set out to do had been accomplished. 

“We’re here, sir,” Hawkeye said with a gentle tug on his arm to indicate that he should stop before she knocked sharply twice. 

The door swung open a second later and then there was some shuffling and he felt Hawkeye tap against his chest to indicate the visitor badges they had received upon entering. 

“You can come in,” an unfamiliar voice, probably a nurse or doctor, said, and Hawkeye urged him forward, stopping him several steps later as Roy felt the doctor or nurse brush past. 

“Oh hi Lieutenant! Hi Colonel!” Said a voice that was very familiar, yet different, sounding less hollow and odd without its metallic echo. 

“Hello Alphonse, how are you doing?” Hawkeye asked while gently moving Roy over to somewhere where he could sit, guiding his hand to the arm of the chair before pressing him into it. 

“Getting better everyday!” He answered with optimism and joy. And Hawkeye couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm he had for life. 

“I’m glad to hear it, you do look like you’ve been improving,” 

“Yeah I really have! All the doctors and nurses here have been so nice and they said I could even start physical therapy soon! I'll be back on my feet before you know it!” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself Al, you need to have a real meal before you start hobbling around,” Ed interjected, making his presence known for the first time. 

“I know, brother, but I'm just so glad to have my body back! There are so many possibilities now! Oh, and,” Al paused his voice becoming more serious, “thank you both so much for helping us over the past few years, brother will never admit it, but it really meant a lot to us to have your support when we were looking for the philosopher’s stone, even after how everything turned out,” Al’s voice quieted near the end of his speech and Roy got the feeling that everyone in the room was decidedly not looking at him. “I’m sorry you can't see me, Colonel,” Alphonse said quietly. 

“I’m sure you’ll be quite the dashing young man when you get back on your feet, maybe teach your brother a thing or two,” Roy responded, flapping his hand and casually dissipating the tension in the room, lifting Al’s mood when Ed let out an affronted ‘Hey!’. 

Hawkeye then turned to Ed to ask after his health and how his arm was doing, but before he could respond, the door was flung open. 

“The Elric brothers! I have heard you have been making a steadfast recovery!” Major Armstrong announced his shirt being lost in the process. He attempted to hug Alphonse, but before he could Hawkeye gasped out a startled ‘Major!’ and reminded the man of Al’s still fragile condition. 

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant ” he said, his muscles flexing, “I just became so emotional! Although,” his tone shifted, “I suppose that wouldn’t be the most fitting title, I just heard about your resignation, you will be sorely missed,” he continued wiping a tear from his eye. 

“Resignation?” Ed asked his voice quiet in a way that meant he was afraid, “From what? But if you resign from the military than how…” Ed’s voice trailed off as his focus turned to Mustang. “What?” He voiced again the word barely above a whisper. 

“In case you were unaware Fullmetal, I can’t exactly see anymore, I’ve been discharged,” Mustang clarified arms crossed against his chest, “Blind men don’t do well in the military.” No one questioned what that had to do with Hawkeye’s resignation. 

“They can’t...But how are you supposed to...That’s so unfair!” Edward said his quiet fear quickly turned to anger. “You’ve done so much for the military, for the country! And they’re just gonna take all that away, but your plans…” He drifted off remembering Armstrong’s continued presence in the room. “You didn’t even want to open the gate,” he finished meekly. 

“I think it’s best not to dwell on those what ifs and what is fair and not fair. This is my life now, if I can accept it then you damn well can too, Fullmetal,” Roy said, his voice taking on the lecturing tone that Edward normally hated. 

“I’m sorry,” Alphonse said again, after the silence following Roy’s speech became too much, “I know that maybe you don’t want to dwell on it, but I hope you can,” he paused, searching for an appropriate term, “feel better.” 

“And you too, Alphonse. Everyone’s expecting you to make a fast and full recovery,” Roy responded, “I look forward to seeing you on your feet, after a fashion. Don’t let your brother do anything stupid in the meantime,” Roy shifted his attention to Armstrong,”It was nice hearing from you Major, send your sister my regards,” he said holding on to the chair as he rose, “I think the Lieutenant and myself are going to go now,” 

No one corrected his misuse of her title as they exited Alphonse’s room. 

“Do they pity us?” Roy asked once the door was safely shut behind them. 

“Armstrong, maybe, although his sister will be far less sympathetic, I’m sure. Not the Elrics though, I think they’re...hopeful,” 

Roy was silent for a long time before he asked quietly, as if he was afraid, but had to know, 

“Do you pity me?” 

Hawkeye didn’t say anything for several long moments, where Roy was sure he forgot how to breathe. 

“I cannot deny that your blindness complicates our plans, and the discharge more so. But regardless if you can see or not, you chose to continue to fight on that day, and you are the same man as you were a month ago and a year ago and a decade ago. And I trust that man,” she paused, “There is no room for pity, sir,” She answered with conviction, and Roy wanted to know suddenly if she was looking at him right now, or staring ahead. Because he was sure that if her eyes were fixed on his then the meaning of her words would have a different connotation. Was her face soft or hard? What about her eyes? He had no doubt she was telling the truth, but how was he supposed to interpret her words if he couldn’t see how she inclined her head or pursed her lips? He stopped his train of thought. 

_There is no room for pity_

Of course, he was an idiot, he hardly needed all that, when she said it all. Roy exhaled softly, 

“Well, then I can hardly pity myself, now can I? Look on the brightside! I’ll never have to see Armstrong shirtless ever again!” He said, and then more softly, “Thank you, Hawkeye.” 

“Of course, sir,”

…

“Sir, if you’re tired you should go to bed,” Riza suggested glancing at him from her place on his armchair. 

Currently Roy was lying prone across the length of the couch, face buried in a pillow. He hadn’t moved for at least the last hour. 

“But I’m not tired,” he whined, response muffled by the pillow. 

“There’s no need to be a petulant child,” 

He remained unmoving. 

“Riza,” he said minutes later, voice barely audible.

She looked up at him, curious. They had gotten better at loosing the formalities over the past several weeks, but even still ‘sir’ seemed more eager to roll off her tongue then ‘Roy’ ever did. He still slipped up and called her Lieutenant more often than not. 

“Riza, I miss Maes,” he choked, turning unseeing eyes to where she sat. Her breath caught in her throat when she glimpsed the sorrow and fatigue etched into his face. 

She jolted to her feet, her own eyes focused on his creased brow and twitching lips.

Three long strides took her to his side and she squated down, taking the hand that fell off the side of the sofa into her grasp.

“Remember earlier when I said that the military worked so slowly because if they worked any faster they’d get vertigo? He would’ve thought that was hysterical, and I-I kept waiting for him to laugh, and t-to tell me that it wasn’t true because I’m a perfect example of military incompetence, and it’s not like I get v-vertigo…” 

Roy was blabbering and he started rubbing at his ears. 

“And I can remember his laugh so well, Hawkeye, but-but not his face, why didn’t I commit his face to memory? Or yours? Why do I still expect to hear him laugh, Hawkeye?” 

He was pleading with her, she realized. But she didn’t know how to deal with sadness, with his sadness. She could only squeeze his hand as his voice broke and crackled. 

“How about...we go visit Gracia and Elysia tomorrow?” She said at last, voicing her suggestion with trepidation. 

“Shit, Riza, I can’t do that,” He said, and she was taken aback when she noticed how scared he sounded. “I-I’ve been in Central for the past eight months and I haven’t gone to see them once! Oh, god, I’m such an asshole!” 

“All the better to do that now then. Gracia isn’t the kind of person to hold that against you. I think...you need to do that,” 

He ripped his hand from her grip, turning so he was face down on the pillow again, both hands pinned under him. That, more than anything, convinced her of how deeply he was hurting. 

“I’m going to call Gracia and tell her we’re coming over at ten tomorrow,” Riza told him, her voice as soft as she could make it. 

When she reentered the living room after she had made the call, to Gracia’s delight, his steady breathing told her he had fallen asleep. 

The next day, Roy was supremely uncooperative, and childish. She was tempted to call him petulant again, if not for the fact that the last time had ended so horribly. 

Regardless, she was eventually able to drag him to Gracia’s home while he fidgeted the entire time. Riza was at least glad to see him calm somewhat after the doorbell had been rung. 

“Uncle Roy!” Elysia called as she pulled the door open, “Mommy, Uncle Roy and Miss Riza are here!” 

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Gracia responded from inside, “Why don’t you show them the parlor, honey?”

“Okie,” the three-year-old smiled opening the door farther, “This way!” She sing-songed, pleased by the responsibility. 

Roy knew Elysia was going to be a smart girl, knew she was already very observant, something she had seemingly inherited from her father, but nethertheless, Roy was struck speechless when she innocently asked, “Uncle Roy, what’s wrong with your eyes?” 

“Oh, Elysia, you see,” he stalled, trying to find a way to explain that he had been blinded by being forced through the gates of truth. Riza stepped in to save him, 

“Roy can’t see anymore,” she said gently, “his eyesight was taken away,” 

“Who took it away?” She sniffled, “Tell them to give it back!” Riza and Roy both hated how afraid the young girl sounded.

“Bad people took it away Elysia, and he can’t get it back, but he’s going to be okay, because he has people to help him. Like you and me,” Riza explained gently. 

“How awful,” Gracia said from where she stood in the threshold between the parlor and the kitchen, a bottle of wine and three glasses in her hands. 

Gracia approached the pair of them, leaving the drinks on the coffee table, she stood before the two adults on the sofa, gazing into the empty grey expanse of Roy’s eyes. 

“Oh, Roy I’m sorry,” Gracia said as she sat across from the pair, moving Elysia to sit in her lap. 

Roy laughed humorlessly, 

“It’s fine, Gracia, really. I’ve moved past it, but I’m sorry for not keeping in contact with you, I’ve been out of the hospital for over two months and I haven’t come by, I feel bad for not telling you sooner, I feel you deserve to know some...things,” 

Gracia waited patiently, smoothing her daughter’s hair as Roy gathered his thoughts and sucked in a breath, 

“I found the person who killed Maes,” He said at last, fists clenched in his lap. 

“Roy Mustang you won’t talk about those things in front of my daughter,” Gracia replied harshly, a threat in her voice. “I saw the newspapers, we won’t speak of this further,” 

Elysia looked up at her mother’s terse words in confusion, and Roy wondered how he could have forgotten how much spunk his best friend’s widow had. 

“The newspapers printed an incorrect story,” Roy said more calmly, remembering the young ears, “Maria Ross had nothing to do with that...incident...nor was I the one to...terminate...her.

“She is quite well actually and currently visiting her family. The one really responsible, was, well, not human. I didn’t destroy it either actually, but I must admit that I may have wanted to, I don’t think I have ever felt more anger than in that moment,” Roy admitted. Gracia’s countenance was still stern as if she were not pleased by Roy’s words but had resigned herself to them anyway. 

“And I’ve come to realize now,” Roy continued to say, “that my behaviour was irrational and unfair to Maes’ memory, and to you, the woman he loved more than anything. I...don’t think I knew how to properly react, when I got that phone call, and I was trying not to be sad for stupid, stupid reasons so I hid it all behind a wall of anger. The day of his funeral,” Roy swallowed, voice beginning to tremble, “I couldn’t even admit that I was crying!” He laughed, but it was as if he were in pain. Once he regained control of himself he concluded,

“I was just hoping to tell you that any retribution you may have sought has been dealt, and I know that probably isn’t what you would want, but it wasn’t done by my anger,” 

Roy felt Riza’s hand snatch his, almost desperately, and hold it like vice. The strength of her grip was an odd comfort. 

“I’m...glad you did not act out of ill begotten anger on my husband’s behalf,” Gracia finally said. “Maes always said that it was your goal to give other people happiness. And I’m glad you didn’t succumb to rage, I don’t think he would ever want that. So, try to be happy now, for him,” Gracia said and Roy did not miss the tell-tale quivering in her voice. 

“I’m so sorry Gracia, I didn’t mean to irritate old wounds,” Roy said with sensitivity most didn’t associate with him. 

“Oh, Roy, they’re not old wounds,” she sighed, “Grieving isn't something that ends, I’m still learning how to live without him, and so are you,” Gracia explained softly, wiping at her eyes. 

“I miss daddy, too,” Elysia interjected, still clutching onto her mother. 

“Oh course, sweetheart. Why don’t you show Uncle Roy and Miss Riza your art project? I’m sure they’d love to see it,” Gracia transitioned smoothly, lifting the infant off her lap to allow her to scramble to the stairs, beckoning for her to guests to follow. 

And as Riza instructed him on how to navigate the steps while Elysia chattered happily, Roy felt at ease. 

… 

“If you’re just going to stand there, you can at least set the table,” Hawkeye told him as he leaned against the kitchen doorway. 

“Ok,” he said feeling his way across the wall until he reached the countertop and reached for the second drawer, grasping two forks and knives in one hand and reaching out with his left till he found the edge of the kitchen table. 

He smiled winningly as he set the utensils on the right and left side respectively, turning the knives inwards. He inched his way back for napkins, and Riza pretended she wasn’t watching from the corner of her eyes as she added a dollop of mashed potatoes to each of their plates, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be able to tell. 

He took his seat gingerly, looking quite proud by his simple accomplishment and Riza couldn’t help but smile too as she placed his plate in front of him. 

“Chicken and mashed potatoes, right?” He asked taking his fork in hand and running it over his plate. 

“And green beans,” She added taking a bite of one of the vegetables. 

“Oh, at least it isn’t cauliflower,” 

“You know I like cauliflower,” Riza said, feigning hurt. 

“And that’s probably why I ate far too much of it growing up and got sick of it,” He munched, half a green bean sticking out of his mouth. They continued to eat quietly and she watched as his brow began to furrow until he was chewing his chicken with something akin to a scowl written across his face. 

“What the hell are we doing?” He finally said dropping his fork and knife on his nearly empty plate before flinching away from the clatter.

“Eating, sir,” 

“No, Hawkeye. We’re freakin’ living together. We can-can touch now, without…” He gestured wildly, looking intently just to the right of her face. “Why don’t we talk about anything? I have so much more to tell you than, just _cauliflower_ , god!” 

“I’ll always listen, sir, if you want to talk,” 

Roy’s mouth ran dry. 

“Hawkeye, I-,” he gulped down air like a drowning man and his fingers trembled where they were clutched in his fists. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” he began, his voice earnest and steady while the rest of him seemed to tremble, “before with Hughes and then...but,” and then his voice caught. “I don’t even know what to say. I feel full, like I’m bursting, with everything I want, no need, to tell you and now I am and I just‒you’ve left me speechless, I guess,” 

He grunted in frustration. 

“No! I want to say, I want to say, I'm sorry? I’m sorry you have to take care of me now, you could be doing much better things than taking care of my pathetic ass. We had so many ambitions and they all just got taken away because I’m a useless blind man, you really shouldn’t have to stick with me while-”

He felt her hand was on his shoulder and the words stopped in his throat. 

It slid up to his cheek and her other hand met it to grip either side of his face and ever so gently she turned his head to the side.

“Roy Mustang,” she began, her voice a marble column of strength, “I know you can’t tell, but I am looking you square in the eyes right now and I am telling you,” she paused and then carefully enunciating each sound as it rolled off her tongue, “I’m here because I want to be here,” she paused her voice just as strong as before, “with you. Always.” 

Her little finger stroked the line of his jaw. 

“Don't call yourself useless, Roy. We have a job to do,” 

“You call me useless all the time,” he choked with a smile, knowing it wasn't the right thing to say but also knowing he had to say something. 

He felt the hardened pads of her thumbs run along cheekbones. She didn't say anything. 

“What are we doing?” He asked for the second time that night, although a bit more tentatively, afraid his strained voice might crack the choking tension in the room. 

“I didn't think you were that imperceptible, sir,” she answered, her warm breath tickling the loose strands of hair that hung over his forehead. “You said we can touch now,” 

Roy’s hands gripped his thighs where they rested in his lap. 

“Huh, I did say that didn't I?” 

“Yes, I’m trying to make progress,” She continued and Roy could hardly concentrate with her being this close, his nerves were shot and he couldn’t even bring his body to react.

“Progress?” He questioned, wondering idly if she could feel the frantic beating of his heart or noticed how his hands quivered in his lap. 

“Progress,” She repeated, “In touching you,” she emphasized by applying gentle pressure with her thumbs, “and in talking to you, really talking,” 

She didn’t allow him time to interrupt,

“Sometimes you scare me,” she admitted, “The past six months were like hell, one where I couldn’t reach you, I didn’t realize before then how much I needed you. I was your hostage, but it was almost like the opposite was true, too. I was terrified that some shadowy spear would strike you down in the middle of the night, while I slept, where I couldn’t reach you. After I failed so miserably in the Third Laboratory...you’re not allowed to die like that, alone, god Roy, you deserve better than to die alone,” Her voice shook, and Roy was reminded of a phone booth. 

“Because I need to be there, with you. I need to be with you. That’s why I’m here now, Roy, I couldn’t stay away if I wanted to,” 

“We’re hopelessly codependent,” He muttered after her speech, drinking in her words and trying to sort them out. “Because I’m the one who has always needed you.”

She kissed his forehead, the steady pressure sent a wave of calm through him and he released the clenching grip on his thighs to reach out for her. 

Her embrace felt right. He had never felt like he belonged more than when pressed between the steadiness of her hands and her strong body. 

“Progress?” He murmured into the warm expanse of her shoulder, wisps of her loose hair falling across his face. 

“Progress,” she returned, and didn't let go.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a big fan of blind!Roy and I wanted this fic to represent my favorite theme in FMA of moving forward, combined with the optimism Roy has in the last episode, even while blinded, I thought that a more positive fic would be best with my first foray with these characters, tell me what you think!
> 
> Edit [11/6/16] Just fixed some grammar/typos


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